


The Fall

by lady_ses22



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Drugs, Funeral, Gen, The Fall - Freeform, dream - Freeform, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ses22/pseuds/lady_ses22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starts off with John attending Sherlock's funeral. It goes downhill from there, but has a surprise ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall

They are burying him today.  
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I fixed my tie and looked in the mirror for a bit. I couldn’t breathe. I haven’t been able to since...  
I smashed the mirror and let my knuckles bleed over the dresser. I started panting. Arrah! I threw my belongings to the floor.  
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I was sitting on the bed now. Hand bandaged. 15 minutes until the service started. I couldn’t get myself up. Not only because I didn’t have my cane, I just couldn’t put myself to doing it. I only stared at the floor boards. Nope. No. I can’t....go. Just the thought of.... I felt the tears forming in my eyes. Wipe. “People need to hear the truth about him” I said aloud. Then his voice seeped into my head “It’s all a trick. Tell them. Tell them I’m a fake.” “No I won’t Sherlock!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. His name rung in my ears.  
I went over to fetch Mrs. Hudson. We rode together in a cab. Silence. We were a few minutes late but they hadn’t started yet. I guess they were waiting for me. A couple of familiar faces came to give me their condolences before returning to their seats. We sat on the left. Close but not too close. It wasn’t a huge turn out. A lot of empty seats actually. No fans. Even with all the fame he had acquired before......  
Just friends, family and a surprising number of reporters. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turned. It was Lestrade. “I’ll take care of it.” “Thank you” I whispered. Several abuse words later, he found his way back to his seat and we were bothered no more.   
The preacher gave us the routine service, nothing special. Nothing more for this extraordinary man. Next we all got to say a few words. Mycroft went first. He looked more guilty than sad. As he should. It was completely his fault. I will never forgive....If he hadn’t...If...I glared at him. My body full of hate, seething. “My brother,” he began “was a man of great pride and skill. He was....impossible to live with growing up. The competition between us, insufferable.....even to the day.”  
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“I wouldn’t have had it any other way. As difficult as my brother was, I loved him deeply.” A tear fell from his face, and a look of anguish overcame him. “I wish it hadn’t ended the way that it did with his name and memory slandered..... BY GOD! I knew my brother and he was not evil. He wasn’t” he said his voice falling to a whisper. He leaned over Sherlock’s casket and left a white carnation and sealed it with a whispered “Goodbye.” He went back and helped his mother who was quivering under her black dress. She sniffled and then started.   
“Sherlock was my son. I was so proud......of my son.” Her tears were endless. “I kept all the papers.” she continued. “everyone with his name or picture in it, well until recent. So proud....” she whispered once more. “...it’s true though....what they say. A parent should never outlive their child....never.” Mycroft came up and helped her back to her seat. She was shaking pretty violently now. Lestrade looked over to me but I didn’t budge. So he went.   
“Sherlock Holmes was a good man.” And that was all. Molly went after. “Hello, uhm yeah. I worked with him. Sherlock Holmes that is...” she was nervous. “H-he was a good co-worker and friend.” she squeaked. “It’s amazing, the thing he did. His gift I mean. Helped so many people. She half smiled then kissed her hand and placed it on the coffin.  
Mrs. Hudson squeezed my hand. “Go ahead” she whispered. I nodded no. “You should go.” I managed to say. “I’m no stranger to a funeral love. I’ve already said my goodbyes in here.” She pointed to her heart. I looked ahead, and then stood up.  
The walk over to the casket was a long one. My feet felt like led edging closer to this nightmare. I finally got there. To the front. I saw his casket. It was dark with his name engraved on it. It had a ram of flowers in edition to Mycroft’s carnation. I must have been standing there a while because Mycroft said I didn’t have to speak if I didn’t want to. I stared a bit longer and then touched every letter on the casket. Feeling each syllable. It was real. “I” my voice was too shaky. I clasped my throat, steadying it. “I knew Sherlock Holmes less time than the rest of you lot. But in that time we had.....this man changed my life. He healed me the first time we met, we solved cases together, laughed and truly lived. Do you understand me? I CAME BACK FROM THE WAR A COMPLETE MESS! ......a shell” I whispered. “And this man picked me up from my depths, accepted me, and I him. The time we had was too short. A bloody year and a half. That’s all. I envy you lot, you’ve had years with him. Years. He was a hero, you know. No one can convince me otherwise. SCREW the papers and the rest of the world. Sherlock Holmes was a genius, a good man..... and he was my best friend. There will never be anyone else like him. No one can come close...” I looked at his casket again, closing my eyes, imagining him inside. Dressed in a suit, clean, head smashed in. I shuddered. Before I took my seat again I pulled out a red rose from my inside pocket and lied it gently on top of his coffin.  
My heart withered in pain as I watched them put my best friend in the ground. I had stopped crying. I was numb.

The next thing I know the keeper put a hand on me. Son, service ended hours ago. It’s coming on nightfall. You best be getting home. I grunted. Should I call you a cab?

I collapsed.  
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I woke up in a hospital bed. Feeling weak. Drained. Harry was at my bedside. “Oh John thank God! You had me worried sick!” “Wha...ehm...what are you doing here?” “I was in your emergency contacts. In your file, here at the hospital. But honestly Johnny do I need a reason?” “I looked down, then at her. “They called me telling me you passed out in some cemetery. That’s all. I mean haven’t told me what’s wrong or anything. What were you doing in a cemetery any how? “What do people normally do at cemeteries sister?” I said menacingly. I clamped my hands in frustration. I didn’t want to see her, I just wanted to be alone. “Sorry.” She looked away clearly uncomfortable. “I just didn’t think you had anyone buried here...in London I mean.” “See and that’s your problem Harry, you don’t think.” I didn’t even look at her as I said it. “Oy! I came to see you if your alright....what is all this rubbish coming from?” “I didn’t ask you to come. DO me a favor and leave.” She did. I didn’t have to tell her twice. I was soon discharged after that, but I apparently had to go see my psychologist again on Tuesday. I told them to drop me off a block away from 221 B. They did. I gazed at it from a far. Don’t think it’s actually possible for me to step foot in that place again. Maybe I could pay a mover to you know....move things. My things....his.

Time flew by and I had found myself a cheap studio just outside of London. Work was the only thing that kept me going now a days. Just work and therapy. I was taking antidepressants with alcohol. Clearly not the best choice but alcohol seemed to be the only thing that made me forget....at least for a little while. Harry would come and visit, but would only scold me for drinking. I hated her. She is such a hypocrite. 

The hole isn’t healing, it’s just there. I am only learning to live with it, but sometimes I think it’s not worth living like this anymore.

Nightmares. Nightmares almost every night now. Relentless torment. I grab another drink. Months have past by. I lost the job. I’m just sitting here. Laying here day in and out with only drink in my belly. My body is starting to look like I feel. I think I am sick. I keep vomiting and now I am too weak to hold my own. I don’t know the days...hell I hardly know my name. I don’t want to know. I just sleep. 

I woke startled and with a vivid memory or dream I suppose. Sherlock came back! He was here. I looked around but everything was the same. Untouched. I swear it was real! He came in through the window and helped me....talked to me, though I barely remember what he said. My head was so fuzzy. Why can’t I remember? I got up to clean at least. It gave me something to do.

Again and again. His visits were frequent. I welcomed them. He was at least alive in my dreams and somehow this was better, and I was better. I was at the grocery store now picking up some milk and the paper. I needed to find a new job and locally. 

Everything ran smoothly. I got a new job, food in the fridge, dressed, bathed. I waited, and he came again in my dreams at least a couple times a month. It was wonderful. Most of the time we sat and drank tea. We talked about the news, my new job, everything. It was the same old Sherlock, insults and all. I loved it. It was like he was almost here. Like he was still with me. I would wake and still feel ok because he was in my head, preserved. Does that make me crazy? Well either way I don’t care.

I had a routine check up today and even donated some blood. I felt good and the doctor said I looked healthy again. I hopped off the table, ready to get on with my life.

I met a girl. Her name is Amanda. We are really hitting it off. She makes me feel myself again. She reminded me of who I was before all of this. My intermitted tremor is gone again, I should thank her. 

I got some pretty strange news today. Apparently drugs have been introduced into my system. Like tranquilizers. The doctor noticed it in the blood I had donated. He called me because it was really strange. He usually tested for STD’s or hard drugs, but tranquilizers? I assured him I wasn’t taking anything like that. I came in for another visit. I told him that sometimes I would get woozy when I woke, sometimes more than others. We talked for a bit and narrowed it down. It was when I would dream about Sherlock. I would wake up dazed and confused, pretty hazy every time. My mind wanted to reach to conclusions. My heart was beating faster. Could it be?

I decided to make a trap, just in case. If I was right, he would have some explaining to do, if not then no harm no foul. I would drug his tea and when he was knocked out see if he was real. In my dreams we never actually touched, like shook hands, hugged or anything. It made everything more surreal. It was if I was made to believe it was a dream, because I woke up in my bed, everything still in tact and how it was before, but the dreams were vivid and sometimes I swore his scent lingered on some of my things. I could be imagining this. No, I must be. I saw him fall....I saw the blood and the funeral. I was there. My body shuttered and I suddenly felt ill. 

I waited...then he finally came. 

We did tea, like usual. Nothing was different he just came to check on how I was doing. I tried to be more aware. I tried to note everything he was doing. After awhile of drinking tea he fell off the chair. I ran over to his side. “Sherlock?” I grabbed him. I felt his weight as I dragged him to the bed. I laid him down and just stared. I lifted his limp hand. Flesh. This was real. He was here! But how? So many questions and I didn’t know when he would wake up. I went to get him a glass of water. I came back he was still there. Good.

It seemed like ages. I was waiting at the foot of the bed questioning my sanity a bit. He was alive. Sherlock had faked his death. He lied to me. All the feeling of pain, hurt and betrayal was beneath the surface. My main focus was getting an honest answer from him, an explanation as to why....why any of this. It was driving me mad!    
Finally he woke. I basically leapt over to his side. “John?” He was confused. I saw him replaying previous events in his head then coming to a conclusion. “Ahh I see, you gave me a taste of my own medicine.....figured it out.....” I was silent. “I was hoping to keep this going. I didn’t want you to know I was alive.” “And why the bloody hell not?” “It’s a risk.” He turned away. “Ohh not with this again. You give me a straight answer now or I’ll....” I was so mad. Unbelievable. “Your life is at risk just by knowing I’m alive. They will kill you.....he hopped off the bed and looked out the window. “Moriarty sent hit men to kill you if I didn’t jump off that roof. So I faked it and had to get you to believe it as well otherwise the hit wouldn’t leave me alone... or you.” I looked down at my shoes trying to comprehend that my best friend was indeed back from the dead, but not 2 seconds back with him my life is in danger again. I sat down and put my head between my knees. “John? Are you aright?” “No.” I whispered. “Do you know what you put me through?” He lied a hand on my shoulder. “Yes, that’s why I came back. I saw that my absence was destroying you, that I never calculated...” “Calculated...” I repeated in disgust. “I am so sorry John. I never meant to hurt you....for this to happen. I was so afraid you would die. You were depressed, quit work, neglecting yourself and refused to see anyone. I thought if maybe I can back, even in just a “dream”. I looked up to meet his gaze. He was crying. I had never seen him like this. He cares. Deeply. “I can’t just forgive you. Not now. Just give me time.” “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not even asking for things to be the same. I just want you safe. And that means far away from me. This whole situation I just wanted to put behind me. “What’s next?” “Nothing John. Just keep living your ordinary life. Be happy with Abbey...” “Amanda” I corrected. “Yes Amanda. Work. Just live. Please. And forget me.” “I can’t. “You can’t just tell me you’re alive and then leave again...” I was crying now too. “You don’t get it. You will never understand.” He put a hand on my shoulder then came down to eye level and hugged me.” I gripped him tightly and never wanted to let him go. I couldn’t believe he was in my arms again. I felt a little weak in the knees. Sherlock supported my weight then we slowly made our way over to the bed. He sat me down and I was still reeling. He made his way over to the kitchen and grabbed me a cold water and soaked towel. I lied down comfortably. Realizing he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon I decided to doze off. I jolted awake making sure he was still here. He was. I smiled but felt achey and worn. “Sleep John.” “I’m not taking orders from you. And I can’t...I don’t want to miss another second.” I looked away slightly embarrassed. Sherlock got up and patted my shoulder. “I will stay here as long as you like.” “I would say forever but...” I could see it in his eyes. Imagining us. Again. He was about to speak but then I cut him off. “I would run away with you.” “John. No. Out of the question.” He got up and leaned up against my door frame. “Yes.” “No.” “I have nothing here. “You have work and Amanda.” “Those things are irrelevant and unimportant. Sherlock you matter to me.” “I know.” His eyes were moist again. “You know I would do anything for you, go anywhere or be any one you wanted me to be. Sherlock I love you....and if you leave...if you leave I will not survive it.” He thought long and hard. “We would have to go somewhere...off the radar, far away.” “Then it’s settled. We leave tomorrow.”


End file.
